


In the Afterglow

by unfortunate17



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin loses his mind, Fix-It, M/M, Obi-Wan loses his memory, That's Not How The Force Works, The Force Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: Obi-Wan’s confusion only glows brighter around them. His brows draw together and he looks at Anakin like he’s a stranger.“I’m sorry about earlier,” Anakin pleads, desperate. He reaches for Obi-Wan’s face only for him to startle away at once. “Master – ?”Obi-Wan is still looking at him strangely. His eyes are deep and gray and lovely. “I believe I’m the one who should be sorry,” he clears his throat to rid himself of any residue hoarseness, “You must have me confused for someone else. I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”----Or, Anakin makes an ill-advised wish and the force decides to take him seriously.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 400





	In the Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a comment [Case](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldishcase/pseuds/coldishcase) left on To Eden months ago and I've been writing it on and off ever since!

Anakin stalks away from their encampment with reckless abandon. He doesn’t turn back even as he hears Obi-Wan call his name, tone laced with exasperation. It only makes the blood rush louder in his ears, pound in the back of his mind like a raging maelstrom.

The crunch of gravel is all that accompanies him as he picks his way across the mountainous terrain. There’s not enough cover on this planet, the only respite being the high cliffs that were difficult for the droid army’s heavier artillery and tanks to climb. Even now he can hear the staccato of blaster fire in the distance, his miserable troops taking cover under the constant bombardment.

The subsequent lack of downtime and sleep has left everyone weary, brittle, and rough around the edges. Sleeplessness has always made Anakin’s anger more poignant, the emotion settling deep in his underbelly and burrowing amongst the ever present fear of losing his men, his life - of losing Obi-Wan.

It’s why he’d suggested the attack in the first place. They’d have the element of surprise and they were in an advantageous position strategically. The faster they ended this, the quicker they’d be able to return to Coruscant. To the comforts of warm sonics and hot meals. To their own bed, Anakin curled around Obi-Wan, languid and unhurried. Actual lube instead of the medicinal sharp scent of bacta. Obi-Wan would have the time to take him apart, with his fingers, his mouth, and Anakin could spread out, pleasure-drunk under his keen-eyed ministrations. He’s long grown tired of rushed hands fisted around his cock and Obi-Wan’s fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet.

But clearly, Obi-Wan doesn’t feel the same way.

He’d shot down Anakin’s plan of attack almost immediately, insisting that they take a few more rotations of careful scouting before launching any kind of offensive. As much as Anakin loves the man, he wants to throttle him on these missions. Him and Obi-Wan’s strategies couldn’t be greater opposites if they’d tried.

Of course it’s not just the disagreement that irritates him, it’s the way Obi-Wan silences his opinions with a raised palm like Anakin is an imbecile. Like he too isn’t a war general. Like he isn’t important.

His comm blinks awake as Anakin walks far enough away that their encampment is but a dot on the horizon. There are hot tears pressed in the corner of his eyes and his throat burns with the humiliation of being told off in front of his men.

He ignores the call, lets the cold mountain air whip at his face, breeze stinging.

Sometimes, he wishes Obi-Wan wasn’t assigned to missions with him. They fought well together, that much was undeniable, but only Anakin understood how infuriating his Master truly was.

His comm chimes again.

Anakin curses. It’s bad practice to ignore calls on the front. Knowing Obi-Wan there would be a search party looking for him within the hour.

He holds his breath and receives the transmission. “General Skywalker speaking.”

The sound of static buzzes briefly before Obi-Wan’s baritone filters through. “Anakin, where are you?”

Anakin scowls. “On a walk,” he snaps.

He hears Obi-Wan sigh. “It’s dangerous to be out on your own, Anakin. You know better.”

“I’m not a child, Master.”

There’s shuffling on the other end for a few moments before Obi-Wan’s voice returns, this time more hushed. “Darling,” he implores, “is this about the briefing earlier? I didn’t mean to - “

Anakin’s anger flares further at the mention of the affronted briefing. “Shut up,” he thunders, Obi-Wan falling silent at once. “I _don’t_ want to hear it.”

“Anakin, please.”

“No,” Anakin insists hotly, “don’t you dare. I’m tired of looking like a fool in front of you and my men. I think it’s best that we’re deployed separately from now on. At least that way I can actually do my job.”

There’s a long moment of breathless silence. Anakin’s heart hammers in his chest. He doesn’t mean what he’s saying, but maybe he does.

“I will make sure to inform the Council you feel that way in our next meeting.” Obi-Wan’s voice is steady now, but Anakin knows him well enough to hear the notes of hurt that singe the corners of his words. “Now please make your way back to the base.”

Anakin makes a surprised, shocked noise, but before he can find any more words, Obi-Wan cuts the connection.

He snarls, kicking at a mound of dirt and stone, wincing as one stabs at his foot uncomfortably. He’s not sure what he’d expected - for Obi-Wan to apologize maybe, for him to tell Anakin that he never wanted the two of them to be separated. At this point, Anakin thinks he’d take just about anything.

For a moment he considers recklessly ignoring Obi-Wan’s orders, of stalking further downhill and perhaps beginning an attack himself until Obi-Wan was forced to get involved. But eventually, hurt wins out, and he wipes at his face harshly before he turns back in the direction of camp.

Anakin will not give Obi-Wan the pleasure of seeing his tears.

——

By the time he returns, the sky is completely dark, a plethora of stars and moons lighting his path. Embarrassingly, he’d lost his way more than a few times, each jagged, rocky turn nearly indistinguishable from the next.

He nods at the men who are bunkering down for the night. Rex salutes him as he prepares to lead a company of soldiers on the first night watch. Thankfully, Anakin can’t see his face through his helmet. The fewer people he has to face, the better.

Obi-Wan is predictably waiting for him in his tent. He’s sat on Anakin’s bedroll in his under tunic, shoulders hunched over and eyes on the dirt-packed ground. His gaze snaps up when Anakin enters, relief coloring the air green around them.

“Anakin,” he breathes, “thank the force. You’ve been gone for hours.”

Anakin turns away without a response, fingers trembling with barely restrained rage where they fumble with the clasps of his armor. He almost bares his teeth when Obi-Wan rises to help.

The hostility makes his master flinch away and Anakin catches a brief flash of hurt in his face for only a moment before it dissipates.

“What? Think you’d be lucky enough to get rid of me?”

He watches Obi-Wan swallow sharply and fold his hands across his chest, the motion defensive. Obi-Wan cocks his head, eyes cool. “I see you’re still upset.”

Anakin chucks his chest plate ferociously to the ground, letting it clatter into the corner of the tent. “Yeah?” He growls, “Very perceptive of you.”

Obi-Wan sighs, shoulders falling as he steps forward once more. There’s something hesitant in the hand that reaches for Anakin’s own, his Master’s skin unusually clammy with sweat against his palm.

“My love,” Obi-Wan begs softly. “I’m truly sorry that I’ve hurt you.” He tugs at Anakin’s arm. “Please come to bed, it’s been a hard day as it is.”

Anakin snatches his hand back. Obi-Wan has always been good at sweet-talking his way out of hard conversations, ever the negotiator on and off the battlefield. It’s times like these that he wonders how much of a fool Obi-Wan takes him for. How naive Anakin must be in his eyes.

“Get out.”

Obi-Wan sucks in a breath like Anakin had just hit him and Anakin relishes the flare of red pain in the force. Some dark part of his mind is pleased that he can hurt Obi-Wan just as badly as Obi-Wan always manages to hurt him.

Still, Obi-Wan doesn’t move.

“ _Now_ Obi-Wan,” Anakin whips to face him, eyes narrowed. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”

Obi-Wan swallows again and something in him seems to break before Anakin’s very eyes. “I - alright,” his voice cracks and he stumbles toward the mouth of the tent like a man half blind. “I won’t trouble you any longer. Come and find me when you’re ready to talk.”

Anakin laughs, the sound loud and bitter. Something dark swirls within him, further igniting the inferno in his psyche. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he sneers, “me always at your feet, begging for forgiveness that you know you don’t deserve? Force knows I regret the day I met you.”

At his words Obi-Wan’s mouth trembles in a way Anakin has seldom seen. The force around them is ripe with his anguish. For a single, breathless second, Anakin thinks Obi-Wan is actually going to cry.

But of course, he should have known Obi-Wan would never allow such weakness to tarnish his reputation. His face tightens further, pinching with pain, but predictably, there are no tears. Only Anakin must bare his soul in their relationship, over and over, only to receive nothing in return. The thought makes him grit his teeth, a fresh wave of anger washing over his senses.

“If that’s how you truly feel,” Obi-Wan rasps, knuckles clenched white, “then I suppose there’s no reason for me to linger where I’m not wanted.”

His words are jagged, halting, like Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do with himself. He shoves open the flap to Anakin’s tent and steps out into the night. For a moment, he turns back to Anakin, mouth opening soundlessly as if he might say something.

But then the moment passes, and Obi-Wan shakes his head. He lets the flap of the tent fall shut, leaving Anakin in the deafening silence of his own making.

——

That night, the force bends around him in strange, incomprehensible ways.

Anakin lies awake on his bedroll, hands tucked under his head as he blinks into the inky darkness. Sleep evades him even as his head pounds from the emotional exhaustion of the day.

He tries to shove the force away, tired of the suffocating way it sits on his chest and jeers down at him. It’s especially loud tonight, loud enough to block out even the occasional blaster fire that he can feel shuddering through the earth below him.

He grumbles unhappily, turning on his side, and pulling the standard issue blanket up to his ears. It was cold on this planet, night air absolutely frigid at their altitude. And it was even colder without Obi-Wan’s body to keep him warm. For a moment, Anakin aches for him, aches for his firm touch and warm mouth and sweet, filthy words.

Neither the thought nor the new position brings him any comfort.

At this point, Anakin is almost thankful for the steady beeping from his comm, welcoming any distraction from the rising storm in his mind. He reaches for it blindly, switching on his mic.

He frowns when he hears Rex’s low tone on the other end and sits up to let the blanket pool at his waist. “Rex?” he asks, “what’s wrong? Are the droids on the move?”

“Ah - not exactly sir.” Rex’s voice is steady. Too steady considering the late night comm. Anakin swings his legs over the edge of the cot, already reaching for his boots. “You should come to the med tent, General. It’s urgent.”

Anakin stills for a panicked moment, boot halfway tugged on. “Are you hurt?”

The force preens around him, mocking, like Anakin is somehow responsible for what is to come next. He tries to squash down the feeling, but the force only throws the notion back in his face.

“No, sir,” Rex’s voice crackles through, still calm, still steady. “But - it’s General Kenobi. He’s been shot.”

——

Obi-Wan has been sedated.

Anakin sits at the edge of the narrow cot by his feet and stares down uncomprehendingly at his bandaged chest. Kix and Helix’s voices seem far away as they rush around them, injecting Obi-Wan with syringes full of liquids and medicines Anakin could never even hope to understand.

His master seems oddly delicate now. If not for the bandaged chest and the line of fresh stitches at his temple, Anakin would assume that Obi-Wan was merely sleeping. His breath hitches without control. Anakin reaches for Obi-Wan’s hand, brings it up to his mouth in a poor semblance of a kiss.

Kix lays a hand on his shoulder. “He’s going to be alright, the sedative should be wearing off in a little bit.”

Anakin clears his throat, drags his eyes up to Helix. “What happened?”

“General Kenobi responded to Waxer’s call that they’d found a company of stealth droids by the north side of the camp,” Helix answers him gruffly. He’s shoving extra bacta patches back into his pack. “Waxer says General Kenobi seemed distracted – ”

Anakin’s stomach swoops, something hollow wringing his insides.

“ – droidika shot him clean in the chest. Luckily his armor took the worst of it, but he’s going to be in a lot of pain for the next few rotations. Bruised up his ribs pretty bad.”

Anakin nods minutely. “And – and the stitches?”

Helix sighs. “His head hit the ground hard when he went down. The cut was deep and I had to stop the bleeding. We’re low on stim packs as it is, General.”

Anakin clutches Obi-Wan’s hand tighter. His anger feels far away now, absent in the sickening clench of fear that invades his lungs. “Thank you, Helix.”

Helix nods tiredly. “No need to thank me sir. Just doing my job.”

Kix claps him on the shoulder once more. “He’ll be alright, sir. Takes more than that to bring down General Kenobi.”

The statement is true in every sense, but Kix doesn’t know Obi-Wan, at least not like Anakin does. He doesn’t know that under all that smooth-talking bravado, Obi-Wan is only a man, with delicate skin and breakable bones. A life ripe and ready for the taking.

Helix and Kix give Anakin a last reassuring look before they turn away, other injured troopers calling to their attention.

But Anakin remains.

He brushes a lock of feather soft hair out of Obi-Wan’s face and bites back the first swell of a sob. Obi-Wan’s hand is uncharacteristically cold in his own and it feels all wrong. Obi-Wan is supposed to be the warmth that holds him together. Anakin vows to tell him that when he wakes, vows to tell him that he was wrong, so _wrong_ , for cruelly pushing him away. He’ll never do it again, if only Obi-Wan wakes and looks at him with even a smidge of his previous affection.

It takes Obi-Wan forty-five long minutes to open his eyes. Even awake, he seems groggy, his force signature a mess of yellowed confusion and panic as he jolts forward, almost knocking Anakin off the cot.

Anakin scrambles forward at once. “Master,” he soothes, gentling Obi-Wan back against his pillow, “Obi-Wan. You’re okay – I promise. You’re safe.”

But Obi-Wan’s confusion only glows brighter around them. His brows draw together and he looks at Anakin like he’s a stranger.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Anakin pleads, desperate. He reaches for Obi-Wan’s face only for him to startle away at once. “Master – ?”

Obi-Wan is still looking at him strangely. His eyes are deep and gray and lovely. “I believe I’m the one who should be sorry,” he clears his throat to rid himself of any residue hoarseness, “You must have me confused for someone else. I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”

The force holds its breath.

Anakin sits back, lead dropping into his stomach. Dimly, he realizes that he’s trembling, panic seizing him violently, ice spreading in his veins.

Kix is back at their side in an instant.

“General Kenobi,” he greets, “good to see you awake. How’re you feeling?”

“No,” Anakin’s words are thick on his tongue, difficult to shape in his mouth. “No, Kix. You don’t understand, he needs a medic. Maybe even a doctor. He - he doesn’t remember.”

Obi-Wan frowns as shock ripples across Kix’s face.

“You – ,” Kix looks positively bewildered. “You can’t _remember_?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. He settles back against the pillow, brings a hand up to stroke along his beard. “I remember that I was shot.”

“That’s good,” Kix nods encouragingly, “Do you remember who you are? Where we are? The date?”

Obi-Wan hums in assent, eyes sliding over Anakin like he wasn’t even present, like Anakin meant nothing to him. “On Tython trying to establish a base as a spring point into the Outer Rim for the peace talks. We’re routing the last of the Separatist forces that refused to abide by the peace treaty.” He shrugs then, looking nonchalant. “My memory seems to be alright, Kix.”

At the use of his name, Kix’s shoulders relax even as Anakin’s worry mounts. But, perhaps it had been nothing, he hopes against hope. Perhaps it was nothing but a momentary lapse in judgement from a man working towards consciousness through the haze of powerful sedatives.

“Good.” Kix leans back, eyes turning toward Obi-Wan’s vital charts. “Well, your readings look steady. As long as you’re careful, you’re free to rest in your own tent if you’d like, sir.”

“But – ”

Anakin swallows back the words when two pairs of eyes snap to him.

Obi-Wan’s confusion rises further, this time along with his eyebrows. “Thank you, Kix. But I should inform you,” he nods in Anakin’s direction, his words ringing true and honest in the force, “I’m afraid the only thing I don’t have any recollection of is him.”

Anakin stumbles to his feet, dizzy with dread, the motion unconscious. He feels Kix still abruptly by his side.

“Sir – ,” Kix’s eyes flit between Anakin and Obi-Wan. “You don’t remember General Skywalker?”

Obi-Wan makes a thoughtful noise, eyes roving over Anakin searchingly. Anakin feels him prod at him in the force, peering into his force signature, like Obi-Wan hasn’t known Anakin since he was but a boy. Like he hasn’t slept by his side, slept _with_ him, fucked him open tender and rough, murmured words of love and devotion into his ears night after night after –

Anakin is going to be sick.

“No,” Obi-Wan concedes at long last, “As far as I can tell, I don’t even know anyone with the name Skywalker. I also don’t recall a second general deployed on this mission.”

Anakin scrambles backwards and nearly tears out of the tent in his haste to get out, to get away from the terrible reality that was unfolding before him. His heart hammers in his throat, pumping fresh anguish alongside blood.

The force laughs at him the entire time, even as Kix calls at him fearfully to come back. _Isn’t this what you wanted?_ , it mocks in all its ageless power, _isn’t this what you asked for?_

——

After being evaluated by the Council, Obi-Wan is immediately sent to a mind-healer on Coruscant. Anakin is left to deal with cleaning up Tython and all of the death that follows alone. He keeps his mind pointedly on evading blaster fire and tries to convince himself that Obi-Wan had merely been in a state of shock. The mind-healers would fix him, and if they couldn’t, someone on the Council would know what to do. They probably had such head injuries well documented in the archives.

Any other possibility was unthinkable, made panicked sobs rise unbidden in his throat.

Stars, it’d taken Obi-Wan and him months, _years_ really, to work up to the easy relationship they shared. Despite what Anakin’s anger had wrung out of him, he had no intention of actually letting his Master slip through his fingers. Obi-Wan was the very center of his life, the gravitational point around which his axis rotated. Eventually he would’ve made his way to Obi-Wan’s tent, head lowered in regret, and Obi-Wan would forgive him as he always did, with a curl of his arm around Anakin’s back, and kisses pressed to his mouth.

By the time he reaches the Temple hangar, six rotations have passed.

Six long nights of Anakin curled into his cot, fist pressed into his teeth to keep himself from shattering apart. The men had started to give him a space, probably frightened by his even sharper tongue and explosive bursts of frustration. The campaign had not gone well, but at least they’d managed to achieve their objective. Anakin knows he has Cody and Rex to thank for that, more so than himself at least.

Ahsoka waits for his ship to finish docking before she greets him at the mouth of the landing ramp. Her montrals swing by her waist, silka beads looped around Anakin’s wrist from her knighting ceremony. Beside her is Chancellor Amidala, dark velvet robes draped elegantly along her collarbones.

They both look grim, eyes trained on Anakin as he makes his way to them as quickly as he possibly can. “Obi-Wan,” he grits in lieu of a greeting. “How is Obi-Wan?”

Ahsoka sighs, crossing her arms. “He’s in perfect health,” she shakes her head, “except for the fact that he insists he never had a Padawan and thinks I was trained by Master Plo.”

Padmé puts a gentle hand on Anakin’s arm, drawing him close into an embrace. She smells flowery and expensive. It’s the first kind touch Anakin’s had since he shoved Obi-Wan away all those nights ago and it sends a deep pang of longing through him.

“He’s being briefed by the Council and my advisors,” Padmé tries to reassure him. Anakin feels Ahsoka snake an arm around his back, fit herself into their hold. “We suspect foul play of some kind. It’s like someone’s gone in and rewrote all of his memories that have anything to do with you.”

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his fists tightly by his side to cease their trembling. “At least he’s alright,” he clears his throat and steps away, tries to ignore the pity in Padmé and Ahsoka’s gaze. “At least we haven’t lost him.”

“Oh, Ani,” Padmé whispers, eyebrows knitting together in obvious concern, “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Anakin shakes his head, the knot in his throat ever present. He doesn’t want to tell her that he deserves this, that this is his lesson to suffer. The force feels far away these days and no matter how much he searches, how many layers he peels back, he can’t locate his bond with Obi-Wan. It’s simply as if he never existed. Like they never shared a life together.

“He wants to see you,” Ahsoka says then, quietly. “But only if you want to. I told him you would be coming home today.”

Anakin takes a shuddering breath. “Alright,” he steels his nerves, “I’ll go see him.” It’s the least Anakin could do for Obi-Wan after ruining both of their lives.

“Master – ”

Anakin holds up a hand. Watches his men unload the Resolute for the cleaning droids. “It’s okay, I’ll go.” His voice gets very small. “He needs me.”

Ahsoka’s shoulders fall and Padmé makes a soothing noise, drawing her close to her side. “Okay,” she relents, “but he’s – different now. He’s not – like Master Kenobi anymore. At least not the Master Kenobi we knew.”

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut against the nightmare. “He needs me, Snips.”

——

Whenever Anakin was deployed alone, whether it had been during the war or during the new peace negotiations, Obi-Wan used to cook him something upon his return to welcome him home. Never mind that his Master had never been much of a chef, but the warmth of the gesture always managed to make Anakin feel loved. Because that’s what Obi-Wan did – he loved Anakin even when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it and cherished him more than he ever should have.

The force is eager to show off its masterpiece when Anakin enters the darkened living room of his shared quarters. There’s a light on in the kitchen, a single slant of honeyed yellow drawing Anakin forward to where Obi-Wan is seated at the table, a data pad in his hands. He’s humming, voice low and serene.

When he hears Anakin approaching, he turns to face him, handsome as ever. Anakin remains standing, clutching the back of an adjacent chair for support.

“Knight Skywalker – ”

Anakin can’t quite hold back the flinch at the title, his hands gripping the chair a little tighter.

“ – I owe you an apology. It’s been brought to my attention that you were my Padawan.” Obi-Wan looks like he doesn’t quite believe his own words. Nonetheless, he gives Anakin a small smile. “I suppose that explains why you kept referring to me as _Master_.”

Anakin blinks at him. He doesn’t know how to respond. The faint hum of the temple air circulation system is loud in his ears.

At his silence, Obi-Wan sets down the datapad with a long exhale, his force signature spreading pleasantly through the air, bright and brilliant, and terribly familiar. It reeks of everything Anakin has lost, the throb of it chilling his very bones. “I realize this must be difficult for you. I too remember what it was like to learn that my Master had been lost. But we are Jedi, we must endure, no matter the adversity. “

“I haven’t lost you.” _I refuse to._ The words escape him before he can bite them back and Anakin turns away. The kitchen is stark and tidy, just the way Obi-Wan always liked it.

Obi-Wan frowns at him. “Knight – ”

“ _Anakin,”_ Anakin breathes roughly. His mask is slipping quickly; he never did seem to be able to keep it up around Obi-Wan. “Not Knight Skywalker. My name is _Anakin_.”

“Forgive me,” Obi-Wan replies, not missing a beat, “I was unaware that I addressed you as such. I will keep this in mind, Anakin.”

Anakin grits his teeth. He’s always liked the way Obi-Wan said his name, but now it lacks all the usual rounded corners and softness. He speaks as if he no longer loves Anakin, like the name means nothing to him. “Thank you. Ahsoka said you wanted to see me?”

Now, Obi-Wan’s mouth lifts in a ghost of a smile. “You know,” he says, “the more I think about it, it truly does make perfect sense that she was your apprentice. You two are more alike than I initially realized.”

“I know.” Anakin leaves off the _you’ve told me that many times_ that rises in him nearly unconsciously _._ “What did you need?”

Obi-Wan gestures to the chair beside him, but Anakin pointedly remains standing. Eventually, his Master’s hand drops away, resting back on the table. He looks troubled. “I was hoping you could answer some questions. I’m afraid my mind has gotten a bit turned around – as you’re most probably well aware of.”

Anakin swallows. His grip on the chair is so tight now that his knuckles are white. “Okay,” he tries to keep his voice steady, “what do you want to know, Master?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze turns gentle, eyes crinkling at his temples. He really is handsome, Anakin thinks, bewildered, all stormy eyes and light hair, a blaze of warmth in the force. Anakin rakes his gaze over the smooth planes of his features helplessly, wonders once more when – or _if_ – he’ll ever be allowed the privilege of _touch_ again.

“The Council suggested joint meditation,” Obi-Wan says smoothly. He quirks an eyebrow at him, “Seeing is believing after all, Padawan.”

The title is but a sickening reminder of all that will never be again.

Anakin starts shaking his head before Obi-Wan has even finished speaking, stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living area, in the direction of his room. He’s not sure of the state of it. Obi-Wan never liked his room all that much, always insisting that they slept in his larger, double bed, free of Anakin’s _mechanical monstrositie_ s as he’d call them, albeit fondly. Eventually, it had become nothing but a spare, a home for Anakin’s clothes, his knick-knacks, and Obi-Wan’s overflowing books.

The thought of residing in it once more is unimaginable. 

“No.”

Obi-Wan’s brow’s knit together, except it isn’t concern like Anakin would usually expect, but rather simple confusion. Perhaps even a hint of outrage. “You may shield whatever you do not wish for me to see,” he reassures.

“I already said no,” Anakin turns away, unable to bear the sight of Obi-Wan’s disappointment any longer.

A beat.

Then, “The Council said that we spent most of our time together. I only wish to see what I have already seen, what is already mine to see.”

Anakin swallows, his anger simmering hot and sticky no matter how much he tries to grapple for a sense of control. “It’s _not_ going to happen, Obi-Wan,” he snarls. “Let it go.”

“Knight – _Anakin._ ”

And Anakin stalks away, the force needling him with parallels – images of him leaving camp on Tython as Obi-Wan begged for him to return with sweet endearments and words made only of love. It’s different this time. It will never be the same again. The force doesn’t understand his pain, and shame ensures no other being will either.

His hands are trembling by the time he manages to pull the latch on his door closed and he fists them tightly into his tunic. The fabric wrinkles under the force of his grip like a wilting flower, decaying alongside the hum of _darling_ that haunts Anakin’s every waking breath.

——

Obi-Wan watches him.

It’s maddening. The burn of his gaze is hot on the back of Anakin’s neck whether he’s in the archives or in the training salles. His Master attempts casualness, but Anakin knows Obi-Wan like the back of his own force signature, knows exactly that the way Obi-Wan looks at him is akin to looking at an unfinished puzzle.

It sets Anakin’s teeth on edge, makes him feel alien in his own skin. He spends long hours outside of their shared quarters, only sulking in late at night when he’s sure Obi-Wan has already gone to bed, and rising before the crack of Coruscanti dawn to hastily make his daily escape.

The routine is exhausting, leaves his bones weary and brain mushed into soup, but Anakin cannot slip. He cannot allow his tumultuous presence or wayward emotions to bring Obi-Wan anymore pain. Most of all, he doesn’t know what Obi-Wan will do if he ever uncovers what Anakin has done. He’d much rather take a cool, neutral Obi-Wan than none at all. One hateful look from him and Anakin doesn’t know if he’ll ever stand upright again, not after all that he’s done.

Ahsoka watches him more often than not.

Her arms are crossed loosely across her chest, montrals swinging down to her waist. She’s almost as tall as Anakin is himself, probably will surpass him in height someday, but her face is still round with youth. It’s almost absurd, the way she stands guard over him.

“You know, I already have a shadow,” he tells her one day after a long morning in the training salles, voice sharper than he’d intended.

But Ahsoka only looks at him searchingly, like she can see all the cracked edges of him that he tries to keep together for the sake of his own sanity. “I know,” she says simply, cocking her head. She’s seated across from him, back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her languidly, as she watches Anakin decimate training droid after training droid.

Anakin sheathes his saber, the hum of it dissipating into deafening silence. “Do you want to spar?” He’s still breathing hard and his body aches from the hours he’s already spent doing katas, tunic sticking to his back with sweat.

Ahsoka rises, but she doesn’t pull off her robes or unsheathe her sabers. In fact, Anakin doesn’t see her twin blades anywhere, peacetime allowing them the luxury of leaving their weaponry behind whenever they wished. She makes a face, “No thanks. You smell bad enough as it is.”

Anakin strips off his sticky, damp outer tunic, the movement rough and callous. He tightens his shields to the point of breaking. “Then shouldn’t you be off bothering someone else?”

“Master.”

Anakin tenses his shoulders. He feels Ahsoka place a hand on his shoulder, warm and familiar, and everything that he shamefully wants from someone else. “You need to talk to Master Obi-Wan. About everything.”

“Don’t worry, Snips, the Council’s briefing him already.” Anakin tries to keep his tone casual. He reaches blindly for his water skin, taking long swallows to give his mind a few beats to scramble for words. “He should be up to speed in no time.”

“Anakin.” Ahsoka steps closer, her eyes large and luminous with concern. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Anakin swallows. He clips his saber at his side, smoothing out the wrinkles in his trousers. “Obi-Wan is _fine_. He – ”

“He thinks you’re avoiding him.”

“How could I possibly be avoiding him?” Anakin forces a crooked grin. “I see him every day, Ahsoka, we do live together you know.”

Ahsoka sighs and her hand falls away as she steps back. She peers at him, brows drawn up sharp and angular. “Then maybe you two should pick a day and actually talk.”

Anakin shrugs, ducking around Ahsoka’s frame to the door behind her. “Sure, Snips. If it means that much to you, I’ll make sure to – “

“Are you ever going to tell him you love him?”

Anakin freezes, halfway through the exit.

“– Or is that information he doesn’t have a right to anymore?”

Long moments trickle by as Anakin scrambles for some semblance of sanity against the blaster fire of Ahsoka’s words. His Padawan has always had a flare for dramatics. Truly, he doesn’t know where she gets it from.

“It doesn’t matter,” he chokes out at last. “He’s better off without me.”

——

Obi-Wan corners him late one night.

Anakin’s just slipping in from the archives. If he had his way he’d have spent the night there, but Master Nu had caught him falling asleep in one of the hidden armchairs and sent him straight to bed, grumbling about how she knew Anakin never spent any useful, quality time in the archives in the first place.

He’s just stepping into the door when Obi-Wan flicks the lights on in the living room. The sudden motion makes him freeze, ice dripping into his veins.

“Master,” he clears his throat, attempting casualness, “what’re you still doing up?”

Obi-Wan is sprawled across the couch, back propped up against the far armrest and facing the door. Anakin has spent many afternoons in between the V of his Master’s legs here, chests pressed tight and mouths slanted across one another in languid kisses.

Obi-Wan raises a cool eyebrow. “I could ask you the same, Anakin.”

Anakin steps forward, cautious. Briefly, he thinks about making a run for it, of slamming his door closed on Obi-Wan’s face so he can avoid whatever he has planned for the two of them.

When he doesn’t speak, Obi-Wan sighs, straightening. “Something is bothering you and as your Master, it is my responsibility to help you through it.”

The words burn like acid, corroding his heart with every breath. “Oh yeah,” Anakin snarls, suddenly furious, “so you’ve decided you’re my Master now, have you?”

Obi-Wan pauses and Anakin can almost see the way he draws the force up around him like a shield or some sort of make-shift barrier. His own Obi-Wan often did the same when he realized he was in for a long night, and not of the pleasant variety.

“All current afflictions aside, I will always be your Master, Anakin.” His voice is calm, but his words speak of nothing but hurt. “I may not be the man you remember or need, but I assure you, I am doing everything in my power to change that.”

The fight drains out of him at that. How cruel he’d been, to have left Obi-Wan to this fate. Left him to fend for himself, alone, when Obi-Wan himself would’ve handled this situation with the utmost grace and poise. In his own pain, Anakin had been blind, a fool even.

“I’m sorry,” he offers at last. He shivers, standing before his Master at the foot of the sofa. “I’ve been – preoccupied.”

Obi-Wan hums. “The war has certainly taken its toll on us all.” He hesitates for a moment, before he gestures Anakin closer, and before Anakin’s brain can catch up to his actions, Anakin goes.

They settle together on the cushions, Anakin curled into the space between his Master’s side and the back of the couch. He’s probably taken more than what Obi-Wan had been ready to give in the moment, but Anakin can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when Obi-Wan stiffens for only a second before relaxing against him.

There’s no arm around his back, no gentle kiss to his cheek, but if this is all Anakin can get, he’s more than happy to bask in it. He’ll forgive himself, just this once, a single moment of exhausted weakness borne from marrow deep longing.

“You feel – ,” Obi-Wan’s voice is like honey in his ears, his force presence a warm trickle of tender dewdrops against the base of his skull. “so _familiar_.” There’s awe in his voice, a kind of wonder that Anakin has only heard when Obi-Wan traced his body in bed. He hadn’t entirely understood it then, and he certainly doesn’t now. His eyes are wide as they fall on Anakin’s stricken expression. “And you are in so much pain.”

Anakin shudders. “I – ” He breaks off, shoving his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His earthy scent is heady after so long, distracting, the last time Anakin’s had this was on Tython all those weeks ago. He aches at the thought. “I’m okay, Master. I promise.”

Now, _finally_ , he feels a hand flit along the expanse of his back.

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan’s voice is hushed, his breath warm against Anakin’s ear. “I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what’s troubling you. And I want to help you, my Padawan, truly, I do. But I cannot do so if you do not allow me.”

“Okay,” Anakin whispers under a wave of self-loathing, “Alright.”

——

He spends hours sifting through the sands of his memories.

Anakin takes every moment of love, of lust, of longing, every honey suckled endearment even, and shoves them into a box deep within his mind. It settles heavy and tempting at the base of his skull, almost bitter. When they meditate, Obi-Wan doesn’t even brush past it. True to his word, he keeps his mind on a tight leash, never once surging forward to take more than what Anakin allows him to see.

Layer by layer, petal by petal, Anakin allows memories to blossom and bubble up between the two of them. The first time they met in a starship above Tatooine, the two of them standing before Qui-Gon’s pyre, Anakin’s losing his arm to Dooku, dark nights on the battlefield as they talked hopes and dreamed of an _after_ , Ahsoka making her way down a docking ramp on Christophsis, the two of them slaying Sidious in the Senate chamber.

Laid out like this, memory by memory, moment by moment, Anakin can scarcely remember where he ends and where Obi-Wan begins. They are impossibly intertwined; their lives are but one in the force. Where Anakin stops, Obi-Wan begins, filling in the cracks in his psyche with bone-breaking precision.

When Obi-Wan opens his eyes to look at him in the new kiss of dawn, it takes every ounce of self-control Anakin has to trample down the unbidden love and affection that rises in him before it leaks across his shields and into the force, red and unrequited and unwanted.

The force hums gentle and golden around Obi-Wan as he places a hand on Anakin’s trembling knee. “Thank you for showing me,” he murmurs. “Truly, Anakin, thank you.”

Anakin shivers in his sleep tunic, stretched bare and flayed open on their shared meditation mat. The box within him rattles. “Of course, Master.”

——

A semblance of normality returns.

Anakin allows himself to exhale once more as Obi-Wan rejoins them in almost all the ways that matter. Ahsoka’s gaze, however, remains piercing when she catches even a whiff of Anakin’s white-hot longing, but even that is bearable under the relief of Obi-Wan looking at him again with something other than aloof serenity.

However, no respite is everlasting. Soon, Ahsoka is deployed to Shili for an extended rehabilitation mission, and Obi-Wan is sent to Mandalore to negotiate a shaky peace treaty.

Anakin remains in the Temple, and with Padmé busy with the new Clone Citizenship Bill, it leaves him far more alone than he’s used to. The war has left him buzzing, always over-flowing with a mixture of adrenaline and anxiety that he hasn’t learned to cope with quite yet.

Yoda must sense something in him, because Anakin is soon after tasked with youngling saber training. And while he’d usually complain, he’s almost thankful for the distraction. The initiates keep him on his toes and he comes home dripping in sweat, exhausted and sore-throated nearly every night.

He’s balancing a bowl, two screwdrivers, and a pack of instant porridge for a lazy dinner when his comm trills, loud and unexpected against the wood of the kitchen table. Anakin jumps, the empty bowl clattering to the floor as he lunges forward, flipping on the device. 

“General Skywalker speaking,” he sighs, turning back to the kitchen and picking up his fallen dishes.

There’s a brief moment of static.

“Anakin?”

Anakin flushes hotly despite himself, turns to find Obi-Wan’s blue tinged image sprawled in some luxurious looking armchair. He looks fresh out of the sonic, auburn hair damp and feathered across his forehead, donned in a loose, sleeveless tunic and matching trousers. Obi-Wan smiles at him, mouth lifting higher on one side than the other, all stunning teeth and dimpled beauty.

His heart lurches traitorously. “Master? Did something happen?”

Obi-Wan laughs and he looks almost sheepish for a moment, hands twisting together in a rare moment of nerves that Anakin has only ever seen in himself. “I’m perfectly alright, thank you. But I see you’re busy decimating my kitchen.”

Anakin huffs a breath of light laughter, shoulders loosening as he stirs in the required amount of blue milk. “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan, it’s nothing fancy.” He tips the bowl in Obi-Wan’s direction so that he may see its contents. “The kitchen will still be here when you get back.”

“It’d better be.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence as Anakin digs for a spoon and settles down at the table in front of Obi-Wan’s flickering image. He spoons a mouthful of porridge to give himself something to do, at a loss for words. “Did you need something?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, watching him. An odd emotion ripples across his features, “Only your company.”

Anakin feels something warm trickle down the back of his neck. For a moment, he’s almost thankful that Obi-Wan is trillions of lightyears away, unable to feel the way Anakin is leaking pink embarrassment into the force. He clears his throat, ducking his head bashfully, “Well, you’ve found me.”

“So I have.” Obi-Wan grins at him, “You know, I don’t know how I ever thought I went on all of these missions alone. It’s terribly boring without your antics, if not more peaceful.”

Anakin snorts. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Death Watch is more than happy to liven things up for you.”

“Yes, unfortunately _they_ aren’t a false memory.”

A beat. Then –

“I’ve also been doing some research. About what could’ve possibly caused my – condition.”

Anakin stills, lead sinking into his stomach like quicksand. “Oh,” he quirks casually, “and what’ve you found?”

Obi-Wan sighs, shaking his head once more. “Absolutely nothing,” he admits. “Master Nu confirms that something like this could only be done by someone with exceptional control over their force abilities. The precision, not to mention the sheer power, required to – to rewrite an entire _life –_ stars, whoever they are, we certainly hope they’re friendly.”

Anakin keeps his eyes on the table, both hands gripping the spoon in his lap. He doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

“But more than anything, I simply don’t understand _why_.”

Anakin forces his gaze upwards to find Obi-Wan’s eyes already trained on him, a quizzical set to his mouth and brow. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Obi-Wan spreads his palms, looks at him wryly, “I mean, what possible motive could someone have to take you from me? Why make me forget only you? It would be far more prudent to make me forget everything entirely.”

“Don’t say that,” Anakin reprimands sharply. _Force,_ the thought of Obi-Wan forgetting – forgetting _everything._ Of his poised and kind and brave Jedi Master forgetting all that he was meant to be, all the people that loved him – it was unthinkable, a possibility too bleak for words.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees weakly, “perhaps such thoughts are best kept to myself. Better not to tempt fate.”

If only Anakin had the foresight to show such restraint.

“Anakin?”

Anakin blinks up into Obi-Wan’s concerned gaze. “Yeah?”

Obi-Wan smiles at him then, gentle and sweet. “Just making sure you’re still here.”

Despite everything, Anakin half-laughs. “Where would I go?” As if he would ever leave Obi-Wan. Even the force knew better than to truly separate them.

“Just making sure, dear one.”

——

The calls keep coming.

Every night like clockwork, Anakin sits at the table – sometimes with fancy, spiced meats, others with simple stews and toast – and waits for his comm to trill all the way from Mandalore. Him and Obi-Wan have never spoken so much, about nothing at all. Even during the war, their conversations were focused on their men, on Ahsoka, worries leaking into their words like slime. But now, in the waning Coruscanti evening, with peacetime only a hairsbreadth away, Anakin falls in love all over again.

But love is a peculiar thing, and it does nothing to stem the guilt that continues to fester in his very bones.

——

The Clone Citizenship Bill passes.

Narrowly, but it passes nonetheless.

Chancellor Amidala throws a Senatorial Ball to celebrate, but from the intel Anakin has managed to gather, the whole affair is actually largely Bail and Breha’s doing. Ever the gracious host, Padmé ensures that an invitation is extended to all wartime generals and commanders, clone and Jedi alike, along with an all-expenses paid for night of debauchery at 59s for the rest of the men.

Anakin has seldom had the chance to visit the large, airy ballroom on the top floor of the Senate building. During the war there certainly hadn’t been any occasions to celebrate and the large, elegantly carved doors had stayed firmly shut.

Now, the room is done up in the utmost extravagance, clearly inspired by the blue-green architecture of Naboo. Every surface is strung up with streams of twinkling lights, a wide table in the back simply overflowing with the tiniest of sandwiches, fruit platters, and sparkling glasses of various drink. The marble dance floor is so polished that Anakin can almost see his own reflection staring back at him, inlaid with specks of gold and precious stone.

Tonight, the room is full. The force is calm and content, filled with the light chatter and boisterous laughter of important dignitaries, senators, and clone commanders alike. Anakin can make out the grinning figures of Kit Fisto and Plo Koon looking absolutely conspiratorial over a drink Mace Windu is downing by the droid orchestra pressed into the far wall. It’s odd to see everyone in this manner, he is far too used to them serious and drawn in a war room, or dodging blaster fire on the front. Nonetheless, it’s a welcome change, however jarring it might be.

Padmé has clearly been put in charge of wardrobe because everyone is decked out in the latest inner core fashions. He almost laughs at the sight of Cody tripping over his magenta robes, while Fives eagerly shows off his “velvet digs” to him. Anakin himself is draped in black satin robes, gold metallic bands clasped around his forearms and glinting under sheer sleeves. He feels oddly exposed, almost bashful, but Padmé had absolutely refused to let him chuck on his wartime tabbards in a desperate act of self-defense.

 _We’re at peace,_ she had hissed at him, _are you trying to cause a holo-wide panic?_

He refrains from snarking that he’s caused plenty of them already, thank you very much.

Ahsoka is laughing with Barris and Lux, and even though he’d like nothing more than to march over to them and toss Lux out of a large, lavishly decorated window, Ahsoka looks happy and Anakin reminds himself that he’s a Jedi and therefore actually must have some sense of self control. Obi-Wan is standing off to the side, eyes watchful over a glass of brandy. He meets his gaze immediately when Anakin attempts to sneak a look in his direction, but that’s not a situation he’s quite ready to face. Especially not when the Duchess of Mandalore stands at Obi-Wan’s side, cutting a regal figure in a silky dandelion colored dress with a delicate arm hooked through the crook of his elbow.

Thankfully, it’s Padmé that comes to his rescue.

She’s dressed in the softest, floatiest blue silk Anakin has ever seen. A silver circlet in the shape of jewel flowers rests in her dark, braided hair. She sweeps him onto the dance floor without so much as a word, not giving Anakin even the slightest moment to retreat.

“You look lost,” she murmurs to him, dark eyes dancing with mirth. “Something on your mind?”

Anakin shrugs, hopes that Padmé doesn’t feel just how sweaty his palms are. “Trying to find a good enough excuse to get out of here.”

Padmé laughs, tinkling. She smells like jasmine, her perfume wafting up and over them like a blanket. It’s enough to loosen his shoulders just a smidge. “Party that boring? I’m offended.”

“It’s not the party that’s boring,” Anakin shoots back, teasing, “just the company.”

Padmé snorts, a most undignified sound. “Obi-Wan not giving you enough attention?”

Anakin flushes darkly, heat creeping up the back of his neck and warming his ears. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Do I?” Padmé arches an elegant eyebrow, “Because I’m pretty sure he’s looked at nothing else since you arrived.”

Anakin stamps down the surge of emotion that rises in his chest. His fingers tighten imperceptibly on Padmé’s back, but he already knows he’s given himself away. Padmé is too smart not to notice, and too much a politician to be polite enough to pretend she hadn’t. “He’s been busy. He came straight here after returning from Mandalore.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, “Him and the Duchess arrived in her royal starship. We could hear the fanfare all the way from the temple.”

Padmé pulls him closer, gentling an arm down his back. “Ani, there’s nothing going on between Obi-Wan and Satine. Whatever they shared was a product of circumstance and youth. And it was nothing compared to what the two of you have.”

Anakin swallows. “What we _had_ is in the past, your excellency.”

Padmé sighs loudly, a huff of blue silk. She spins in Anakin’s arms, shooting a wide, toothy smile at the holocameras. “Anakin Skywalker, you are a _fool_. If you don’t tell that man how you feel, then so help me – ”

“Pardon me, but do you mind if I cut in?”

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, begging the force for a moment of sanity before he steps back, smiling blandly at Obi-Wan’s cut figure. He drops Padmé from his arms. “Yeah,” he gestures lamely at her, “go for it.”

Obi-Wan laughs, that ever-charming twinkle of his. He’s striking in his white and gold get-up, a dark, silky-looking cloak thrown over his shoulder and fastened with gleaming buttons at the base of his throat. “I was talking to Padmé, my dear.”

Anakin flushes, wiping his hands on the sheer fabric he’s donned even if it doesn’t do anything to ease his nerves. He ignores the smug look Padmé shoots at him and says, voice hoarse, “Oh.”

“Go ahead, Master Kenobi,” Padmé pushes Obi-Wan a step closer to Anakin and winks, “I have many admirers that are looking for me.”

Anakin almost opens his mouth, almost begs for her to stay, but the words are too desperate. Such fear is unbecoming of the Jedi he’s strived to be. He settles for watching her depart, breath leaving him in harsh staccato beats when Obi-Wan puts a hand on his back and pulls him closer. He tucks Anakin’s hand in his and leads him through a slow series of steps to match the sweeter tones of the Orchestra.

For a moment there is only silence between the two of them.

And because Anakin has never learned to hold his tongue, and at this point, probably never will, he shatters the stillness first. “How – how was Mandalore?”

Obi-Wan gives him a bland look, “You should know. I called you nearly every night.”

“Right,” Anakin mutters. He sweeps his gaze away from Obi-Wan’s storm-gray eyes, tries to find something in the room that doesn’t stifle his breath. He spots the Duchess watching them closely and it does nothing to ease his nerves. “Um. That’s good.”

They lapse into another silence. Anakin has a distinct feeling that Obi-Wan is letting him talk just for the sake of it.

He’s proved correct when Obi-Wan sighs, lung warmed air tickling the hair behind his ear. “I thought we’d moved past pleasantries, Anakin. Or is that another one of my false memories?”

Anakin rips himself out of Obi-Wan’s arms, leashed misery all but snapping its teeth in his chest. The force only seems to egg him on, absolutely delighted in the mess. “Excuse me,” he stumbles for the door, “But I feel sick.”

He weaves rapidly between the crowd of the ballroom, spots the way Satine turns away from him with a small smile playing at her lips. Padmé’s at her side, her eyes dark with worry as she watches him streak across the polished floors into the quieter hallway. There’s hardly a soul back here, only a few droids carrying out empty food platters and guarding the coat check area.

He leans against a pillar, exhausted in ways he can never explain. But he doesn’t remain alone for long.

“I should apologize, what I said was in poor taste.”

Anakin almost snarls. “For _kriff’s_ sake, Master, leave me alone.”

But Obi-Wan only moves to stand before him. His cloak is bundled in his hands, his shoulders not quite as wide-set as they seemed earlier. He looks smaller, concerned, unsure. It reminds Anakin of better times, or perhaps worse times, when Obi-Wan used to fret over him while he insisted on doing whatever flit through his mind.

Then, he hesitates. “Do you truly wish to be alone?”

Anakin tips his head back against cool stone. “Maybe,” he lies childishly. Anakin knows he doesn’t want to be alone. In fact, that’s about the only thing he does know – that when it comes to Obi-Wan, he wants and wants and _wants._

Even if he shouldn’t.

Obi-Wan steps closer, cocking his head. He rakes his gaze up and down Anakin’s frame critically. “You look terrible.”

Anakin shivers. “Well, that’s not very polite of you is it?”

There’s a hand cupping his jaw then, tilting it away from the pillar and down until their eyes meet. Obi-Wan steps closer once more. “Do not mistake honesty for rudeness, Anakin.”

Anakin fists handfuls of beige silk, the material cool under his heated skin. Obi-Wan smells of molten citrus and hints of pine. His force presence trickles like a cool stream of ice water under the base of Anakin’s skull and he resists the urge to simply dunk his head under and drink until he’s had his greedy fill.

“Well you look worse,” he snaps. “Did _Satine_ pick your outfit?”

The corners of his Master’s mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly. “Ah,” he hums, “is that what this is about then?”

Anakin flushes. He needs to keep better company, what between Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka, he’s forever committed himself to playing the part of a fool. “Whatever you’re thinking,” he insists weakly, “you’re wrong.”

But Obi-Wan only smirks at him, a low chuckle reverberating through his chest from where Anakin is resting his fists. He’s seen this smug look before, almost predominantly in bed. It makes something combative rise in him, a need to _prove_ simmer in his blood.

Later, he can’t quite pinpoint what makes him do it, only knows that whatever he may have done, Obi-Wan had responded.

He’s shoved back against the pillar unceremoniously the moment their mouths are pressed against one another. Obi-Wan’s hands are shockingly cool as they pluck at the fastenings of his robes, one hand sliding across the hot flesh of his back and the other slipping into his hair to hold him still. The black of his cloak lays forgetting at their feet, Anakin stumbling over the material in an achy haze to be _closer_.

He dimly realizes that the sounds he’s making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the way Obi-Wan swallows them down with a nip of his teeth against lip and a curl of his tongue. It takes a moment to remember that he too, has hands, and at once Anakin makes use of them, scrabbling at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, knuckles knocking against those infuriating buttons.

“Wait,” he gasps as Obi-Wan sucks mindless bruises into his jaw. The site of a cleaning droid skittering across the carpeted hallway, the music swelling from the open doors of the ballroom, are all enough to strike him with a moment’s rationality. “They can see. Obi-Wan. _Master_ – ”

Obi-Wan snarls against his throat in frustration, but he pulls back, away, and Anakin regrets his warning immediately. “Come,” he says, eyes wild, “ _now_.”

They stumble back to the temple, buzzing saccharin nerves in the force as they’re pressed together in Anakin’s speeder. His hands shake on the controls, can barely bite back the sob at the press of Obi-Wan’s hand, hot on the inside of his thigh.

His Master’s room is just as Anakin remembers it, free of clutter yet immensely comforting, scenting of home and safety. The soft blanket Anakin had adored so much is swept onto the floor as Obi-Wan pushes him back on the bed. He yanks his robes free, watches Obi-Wan do the same, deft fingers working to unclasp the buttons at the base of this throat.

Nights are long, especially those spent in the heat of pleasure and want. Obi-Wan’s presence unfurls around him, in him, thick and warm and syrupy. He’d never realized the extent of his hunger _,_ can feel his lust like a sear as Obi-Wan works him open on expertly slick fingers. Anakin keeps his face pressed into the sheets, mouth open, caught between a cry and a moan.

“You take it so _well_ ,” Obi-Wan’s voice is a rough thing, filled with wondrous awe. “That’s right, darling, work yourself open for me.”

Anakin _sobs,_ vision blurring as he lets himself languish in the feeling of being stretched and filled, the hot head of Obi-Wan’s cock breaching him, slick flesh sliding against flesh. “Obi-Wan – _fuck –_ Obi- _Wan_ – ”

He’s stammering, reaching back to thread durasteel fingers with flesh ones, holding on for dear life, for love, as he savors the feeling of being taken once more, the sensation exhilarating after eternities without. Obi-Wan snaps his hips into him with long, smooth motions, the curve of his cock turgid and searing, as he pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to the back of his neck.

 _“Please –_ ,” he begs, “I missed you so much – please, _Master_ – ”

Obi-Wan makes an unhinged noise against his neck. Anakin almost sobs when he pulls out, empty and alone and lost, but then he’s turned onto his back, knees hooked over the damp skin of Obi-Wan’s elbows. The new angle allows him to look into Obi-Wan’s face, the sweat sodden fringe of his hair across his forehead, the way he digs his teeth into his swollen bottom lip – and nearly cries out from the surprise of being penetrated once more.

“You’re such a sweet thing, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan murmurs to him, even as his pace quickens, “I didn’t even know you could be this pliant.” Another hard punch of his hips, “If I did I would’ve bent you over the second we were alone.”

Anguish shatters him apart just as much as the press of cock in him. His pleasure seems wrenched from him, roaring in the force. He barely notices when Obi-Wan follows him over the edge, savoring the way the force lights up pink, flushed and weighed with the strength of their combined release. He feels wrung out somehow, the ache in him chasm deep, filled with nothing but want and want and _want._

He’s hollow when Obi-Wan brings back a damp cloth to scrub over the sensitive skin of his cock, his backside, his stomach. The touches are exceedingly gentle and Anakin allows himself to be pulled back into bed, allows Obi-Wan to curl a firm arm around him. And even as Obi-Wan’s breathing steadies against the back of his neck, Anakin remains, eyes blinking unseeingly into the steady darkness of the room.

——

The rhythmic tapping of Obi-Wan’s foot against stone is enough to drive Anakin up the figurative wall.

The room they’re in is freezing, but probably just the right temperature for the two Pantorans seated across from them. The male is elderly, eyes tired and weary, while the female looks fresh from youth, skin glimmering like starlight. Anakin himself would’ve said that she was quite lovely – she seemed kind and interesting and patient even if their negotiations were growing long and tiresome – if it were not for the way her gaze was planted firmly on Obi-Wan. Her cheeks warmed every time Obi-Wan so much as glanced in her direction, and there was no denying the way she seemed to seek out opportunities to brush her hands along his shoulders, his back, her smile far too coy for Anakin’s liking.

Obi-Wan himself had been stone faced for the entirety of it. Much like he’d been for the weeks leading up to this mission. Anakin loathes to think he might be the reason behind the mask, but he couldn’t have stayed. Not in that bed, smothered in Obi-Wan’s skin and scent. He’d stumbled to their refresher smelling of lust and love in the middle of the night with a last kiss ghosted along a pale, freckled cheekbone and slowly but surely lost his mind with the sonic serving to dampen the sounds of his frantic cries.

It isn’t a particularly proud memory.

And now, Obi-Wan won’t even look at him beyond the cursory acknowledgement of his presence. It dregs up memories of the med-tent on Tython when Obi-Wan’s gaze had similarly ghosted over him with no recognition to light those gray eyes. 

As always, Anakin only has himself to blame.

The meeting is adjourned for the day; weak suns already being replaced with a plethora of moons. The elderly man dismisses Obi-Wan and Anakin with a grunt and once they rise, he leans forward, pressing his fingers to his temples in exhaustion. He steeps distress into the force, and Anakin knows they will be on Pantora for far longer than he’d initially hoped. The planet had been ravaged by the Seperatists and the Republic alike. Any treaty, even one borne by Chancellor Amidala, would require an exceedingly gentle hand.

The young woman – Naki, as Anakin learns against his will – accompanies them to their sleeping chamber. It isn’t much, but there’s a wooden stove in the middle of the stark room, already hissing with heated coals for extra warmth. Two bedrolls lie against opposing walls and a door directly to Anakin’s left as he enters leads to a tidy refresher. The only real extravagance is the large, bay window that almost resembled the viewport of a star-cruiser. The view is beautiful, if a little eerie – nothing but white-out frost and snow for parsecs upon parsecs. Pantora is quiet, earth blanketed by the force of blizzards that often rivaled cosmic storms.

“I hope this will be comfortable for you,” Naki gestures welcomingly. Her eyes turn to Obi-Wan, and heat warms her cheeks delicately, “if you need anything else of course, I am right down the hall. Please feel free to seek me out, you don’t even need to knock.”

Anakin cinches his shields against the anger threatening to simmer over.

He doesn’t know what he expects from Obi-Wan – intentional obtuseness, or perhaps even disinterested platitudes. Obi-Wan had always been flirtatious by nature, even after it was very clear that his true attentions existed solely for Anakin. But those days had long passed and Anakin could no longer claim any knowledge or possession over Obi-Wan’s emotions.

That particular truth is still settling in, clawing and screaming as Anakin forces it into the underside of his ribs.

The baritone of Obi-Wan’s voice is smooth, mouth lilting upwards until the skin by his eyes creases, “Of course, my dear.”

Naki flushes immediately.

It wouldn’t have been anything, a routine exchange really, except for the imperceptible way Obi-Wan blooms traces of _want_ into the force.

Anakin jerks back, stepping into the room like he’d been slapped, Obi-Wan’s emotions bitter and sordid on the back of his tongue, sliding down painfully to constrict his lungs. “Thank you,” he says loudly, shoving his pack onto one of the beds, “Thank you for your hospitality, Naki, I’m sure Master Kenobi will make good use of it.”

The words are cruel barb. He faintly hears Naki take a sharp breath of embarrassment before mumbling a quick excuse. Obi-Wan calls out a hasty good-bye at her fleeing figure, sliding the door shut behind him with a long-suffering sigh that Anakin has heard an innumerable number of times.

And then, they are alone.

After two months.

Obi-Wan’s voice cuts through the moment of respite with sharp anger, “Do you have any idea how inappropriate that was?”

Anakin grits his teeth. “Not as inappropriate as you throwing yourself at her.”

The words hang between them as Obi-Wan soundlessly goes to dump his pack on the opposite bed. Anakin keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the plain, unadorned wall in front of him, stubbornly refusing to turn and look at him.

“I was only being polite. If your claims of knowing me so well are true, then perhaps you would’ve known that as well.”

Anakin whirls around then, heart almost leaping into his throat. “Oh, so this is my fault then?”

Obi-Wan steps forward, eyes narrowed to slits. He’s crackling energy into the force in a way he seldom does and Anakin has a feeling that this conversation is about far more than an offended dignitary. “That’s not what I said.”

“Well you should,” Anakin snaps back. The fight drains out of him then, “because it is. It always is.”

Obi-Wan hesitates, blinking at his abrupt change of tone. His eyes trace Anakin’s expression carefully. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Anakin laughs, a bitter, unhappy sound that shatters any tranquility that he’d hoped to achieve. “Go to her,” he says, jerking his head towards the door, “I know you want to.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches, his expression drawing up tight. “I will do no such thing, Anakin.” He crosses his arms, the motion already defensive. “Is this about what happened the night of the Senate ball?”

“ _No.”_

The gaze that locks Anakin in place is far too knowing for his liking. Then, Obi-Wan sighs. “I regret that night as well, Anakin. You should know I never would’ve – gone that far if this is to be the outcome.”

The words undo him entirely. Anakin sits back on his bedroll, his legs simply cut out from under him. He feels numb, even the force gathering around him in a way it hasn’t for months offers no comfort. The sound of heartbreak is loud in his ears and whatever excuse he was going to provide simply vanishes under the weight of it.

Obi-Wan regretted him. And probably always had.

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan’s figure is blurry before him and he shakes his head wordlessly, motioning for him to stay away. But of course, Obi-Wan ignores him. He’s quick to always give Anakin grief about following orders, but in truth, he’d always been just as impulsive. He places a hand on Anakin’s jaw, crouching down until they’re eye-level.

Obi-Wan’s face is pained. “Anakin?” he whispers, again. An unspoken question hangs between them.

Anakin swallows. “I’m sorry,” he offers up, eyes stinging. “I – don’t. Regret that night.” He twists his fingers together. “If it means anything.”

Obi-Wan looks at him searchingly for a long, long moment. “That was not the first time it happened, was it?” he asks gently.

Tears make his throat tight, his shields shuddering under the weight of his sorrow. “No,” he admits, word deafening in the quiet room. “We – ”

Obi-Wan takes his hand in his own in response, curling warm flesh fingers around cold durasteel. 

“I love you,” Anakin says at last, “We – you love me, well – loved me, anyway.” He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut, “I don’t know why.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause where even the force seems to hold its breath.

“I do,” Obi-Wan says at last, “I know why I love you.”

Anakin stifles a desperate cry. “You shouldn’t,” he warns, “I’m not – you don’t know what I’ve done.”

Obi-Wan rises to take a seat by his side. He brings Anakin into his arms, leaning back against the wall. “You’re not as terrible as you think you are,” he huffs a light breath of laughter, “I would know.”

Anakin curls closer, pressing his nose into the hollow of Obi-Wan’s neck. He inhales sharply, tangling their legs together. “Master, I did this to you,” he confesses quietly, “I wished I’d never met you and the force – it – it made it so that it was _true_. I never actually wanted – ”

He feels Obi-Wan suck in a breath, and only tucks himself closer, hoping against hope that he won’t feel the burn of rage. But instead of anger, there is only sorrow.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, darling? I could’ve helped you.”

The dam finally breaks loose. “I wanted to tell you, I _did_ – ,” he pleads, terrified, “But I – _couldn’t_ – I was so afraid _._ I ruined _everything,_ Obi-Wan, and the more I watched you, the more I thought that maybe it was better this way. That you were better off without me.”

Despite it all, despite everything he’s said, Obi-Wan’s grip on him only tightens. “That is not true Anakin, and it never will be. I am always here for you, you never need to suffer alone.”

“I _know_ ,” Anakin cries miserably, “but this was – it was _you,_ Obi-Wan. I never wanted to hurt _you_. I want your forgiveness – and your kriffing _love –_ even though I know I’ll never deserve it again. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”

For a long, heart-stopping moment, Obi-Wan stays silent. His palm gentles up and down Anakin’s back, never breaking in its soothing stride. Finally, he tips Anakin’s chin up with kind fingers and even kinder eyes. “My dear, I _adore_ you – you’re very hard _not_ to fall for, you know.” He smiles, “And as for my forgiveness, Anakin, you already have it. I know I’ve only really known you now for a short while, but I’m smart enough to know that whatever you may think, doing this to me was not part of any malicious scheme. We all make mistakes, wish for things we shouldn’t, it is part of what it means to be alive.”

Anakin trembles as Obi-Wan kisses him. The force adds its caress to his back, gentle and calm, and buzzing at his fingertips once more. _Well done,_ it seems to whisper in his ear, curling around Obi-Wan’s frame in satisfaction, basking in Anakin’s enlightenment. _Have we learned our lesson, Chosen One?_

Anakin would’ve flushed with shame if it weren’t for the way Obi-Wan’s nails are scratching through his scalp, beard prickling the edges of his mouth, and fingers gripping his jaw for a better angle.

When they pull apart, Obi-Wan’s mouth is pink, his eyes light and clear and full of affection that Anakin has ached to see for months. “Now,” he murmurs, “are you going to show me all those hidden memories or not?”

Anakin shivers, pulling Obi-Wan down with him on the tiny cot. “Later,” he says, golden planes of freckled flesh making itself known under his hands, “The force will show you later. Don’t worry, Master.”

“Of course – I should’ve known,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes even as he allows Anakin’s ministrations, “I expect nothing less when it comes to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> oof. thank you for reading. you can find me on tumblr too in case you care: [unfortunate17](https://unfortunate17.tumblr.com) ❤️


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